


Reparations

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Both Marta and Meg are lesbians this is a fact, F/F, Makeup Sex, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22156237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: “I know there’s nothing I can say to make it up to you, but maybe there’s something I can do.”
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Meg Thrombey
Comments: 16
Kudos: 160





	Reparations

The parlor is dim, lit only with a few candles offering half-vibrant flames and flickering shadows. They dance weakly along the wallpaper and Marta watches them as she waits for Meg to get settled, only looks away when she doesn’t. She stands by the locked door, wavering and unsure, and Marta tries to ignore the pang of sympathy that rises up in her chest. She knows something’s up when she doesn’t sit, doesn’t search in the shelf beneath the mantle for the box of joints like she always does whenever she spends even a second in this room. 

To be fair, though, things have been _up_ for a good month and a half now. Marta had thought things had settled down now between her and the Thrombeys, all tension deflated after the passing of time and finalization of the will, but now, she’s not so sure. Maybe Marta’s here to rat her out again, to threaten her mother’s citizenship, to question her own belonging in the country. If she has, at least she’s given her fair warning this time.

“What’s going on, Meg?” Marta questions. She tries to keep her voice level, unsuspecting.

She gets no response. 

Marta’s never seen Meg like this, stripped of her typical confidence. Meg turns slowly, finally, and lifts her eyes to Marta’s gaze. She wrings her hands, rotates the rings on her fingers as she shuffles her feet, useless motion not guiding her anywhere. Marta knows her well enough to know what these movements are: nervous ticks. The room seems to get darker around them.

“Listen, Marta, I don’t know what to do,” Meg finally says. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, twists the end of it around her knuckle. “I know I apologized and I know you forgave me but things just don’t feel the same, not between us and, you know— not to make it about me— but I feel like I betrayed my own judgment. I knew better than to do what I did.”

Marta’s expression somehow both softens and hardens at the same time. _Oh,_ she thinks. _Another apology._ She’s both relieved and underwhelmed. She almost expected another fight, another blowout with her entourage of a family storming in, expensive coats and all.

“Yeah, you did know better,” Marta says, honest. She won’t spare her feelings, not entirely. “But it’s over now. It’s done. It’s okay.” 

Meg sighs. Marta’s words aren’t enough to soothe her, just as hers haven’t been enough to earn her entire forgiveness. Yet somehow she still marvels at the way Marta stands before her, radiating that kind of pure, sweet energy that she manages to effortlessly harness in even the worst of situations. It reminds Meg of how sorely she’s fucked up, of how much she deserves to be slapped in the face and shut out from her life.

Thank god she isn’t, though— and that sentiment alone is what guides her, gives her a surge of courage and pushes her forward. She steps close to Marta, reaches out and rests her hand against the curve of her neck. Her breath is bated, she’s daring, unsure. Her eyes stay set on Marta’s, unwavering, testing the waters.

“I know there’s nothing I can say to make it up to you, but maybe there’s something I can _do.”_

She’s being brave, risking being slapped for real this time, but Marta reacts to her touch so quickly, so positively, that she barely has time to fear her rejection. It simmers away as Marta practically stumbles forward, her mind suddenly alight with a million thoughts and desires and _oh, this is what she’s here for, this is what she wants, this is what she meant_ but she’s smooth, too, her motions perfectly uncalculated. She’s real. 

Her hand comes up to grasp Meg’s wrist, keep her hand in place, and suddenly all Meg can do is look at her lips and wonder why she didn’t do this sooner, long before she had a broken bond to mend and her own ego to bandage up. 

“Is this okay?” 

Marta nods. “More than okay. I thought you’d never try it,” she admits, voice both vulnerable and flirtatious. The corners of her mouth lift up in a smile, coy and sincere, and that’s all it takes for Meg to throw her insecurity out the window, to place her other hand on the smoothness of Marta’s cheek and lean in to kiss her, everything else between them damned. 

Marta kisses slow but sure. Meg’s kissed more girls than she can count at Smith but this is different; Marta is _Marta_ and this is an apology and a cry for forgiveness and it’s actually a pretty emotionally heavy hookup when she thinks about it. Meg’s not as confident as she thought she was, not when Marta presses her against the wall and slips a leg between her thighs, adding pressure and the slightest of motion and along with it, the firm realization that Marta has done this before. Come to think of it, she’s known Marta for years and never heard her mention a single thing about a boyfriend, and her nails are always trimmed, long enough to be painted but short enough to trace the skin along Meg’s inner calf, like she’s doing right now— and also, she wears those button-up shirts underneath her sweater so yeah, Meg always got a little bit of a vibe, if she’s honest.

Meg is shaking in the best kind of way, skin burning with every touch and veins alive with anticipation; only when Meg slips her hands up Marta’s shirt, undoes her bra clasps and feels the softness of her ribs against her palms does she come back to herself and remember what she’s doing, what she wanted to do, what she wanted this to mean for Marta. For them.

Marta keeps her control better than Meg, therefore keeps them in check. She kisses a bruise into Meg’s collarbone and makes her whine and twist her fingers into her hair, and Meg thinks it’s only fair to let her lead, to let her ruin her in any and every way she chooses and wants. 

Marta leads them to the couch and urges Meg to feast in the space between her legs, pushes her down just rough enough to show Meg that there’s a little bit of anger still pent up inside, a little bitterness. Meg obliges, accomplished and filled with desire, and when they finally switch, when Marta clambers atop her, Meg reminds herself—not that she needs any coaxing— that she almost destroyed Marta’s life. She might as well let Marta destroy hers. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr under the same username, sweeterthankarma.


End file.
